RiCK SAUNDERS BREAKS HiS SiLENCE

Thursday, March 10, 2016

When I read a book I take a blank sheet of paper and fold it into quarters then use that as a bookmark. Then i'll make notes on the bookmark of words I don't know or that I like, or that I want to know more about. Sometimes the mark comes up empty, sometimes I'll fill it across all four sides and the back. I found a bunch stashed in a desk drawer. In most cases I have no idea what books they're from but I thought I'd post them for your entertainment. Assuming you exist, of course.

BOOKMARK # 4 - I'm guessing this was part of the Paris Review box set of interviews that I had. I loved reading that set, and I think I read most of the interviews within. It's where I discovered Eugene Walter via his delightful interview with Isak Dinesen.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Paul received an automobile from his brother as a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve

When Paul came out of his office, a young boy was walking around the shiny car admiring it.

“Is this your car, mister?” he asked.

Paul nodded. “My brother gave it to me for Christmas.”

The boy was astounded. “You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn’t cost you nothing? Boy…I wish…” He hesitated. Of course Paul knew what the boy ws going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like Paul’s brother, but what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels.

“I wish,” the boy went on, “that I could be a brother like that.”

Paul looked at the boy in astonishment then impulsively he added, “would you like to take a ride in my automobile?”

“Oh yes, I’d love that,” said the boy.

After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow said, “Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?” Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile, but Paul was wrong again.

“Will you stop where those two steps are?” the boy asked. He ran up the steps.

In a little while Paul heard the boy coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his crippled little brother in his arms. He sat his brother down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car. “There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas and it didn’t cost him a cent. Someday I’m gonna give you one just like it…then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I’ve been trying to tell you about.”

Paul got out and lifted the lad’s brother into the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed boy climbed in beside his brother and the three of the had an unforgettable holiday ride.

A simple act elevates all

On Tuesday night, Patty and Rick Parker were in their cramped kitchen with their 8-year-old son Ben. Dinner was over. Bedtime was near.

Ben’s twin brother, Sammy, lay on a cot in the narrow hallway just outside the kitchen. Unable to see or speak or control his limbs, he coughed or let out a little moan every now and then. Rick and Patty took turns feeding Sammy, who has cerebral palsy, through a stomach tube. He cooed when they kissed his face or stroked his cheek, and when they cooed back, he opened his mouth into a wide, joyful O.

A few feet away was the narrow, winding stairway that is the family’s biggest burden lately.

Which is where 17-year-old Rudy’s simple, life-changing act of kindness comes in.

Until recently, Rick carried Sammy up those 14 stairs to his bedroom each night. But a few months ago, Rick had major surgery for a life-threatening heart condition, and now he can’t lift much at all, let alone a 75-pound child.

“We thought Rick was going to die, and we were terrified,’’ Patty recalled. “We knew right away he had to stop carrying Sam.’’

Patty couldn’t carry him, either. Desperate, she called her pediatrician, who put her in touch with Elizabeth Paquette, the nurse at Malden Catholic High School. Paquette said she’d take care of it. The boys at Malden Catholic are taught to embrace service: She’d find plenty of students to help.

Rudy Favard was the first kid Paquette came across after that call. At Malden Catholic on a partial scholarship from the Catholic Schools Foundation, this son of Haitian immigrants was one of Paquette’s treasures. The linebacker, cocaptain of the football team and honor roll student was always willing to lend a hand.

The nurse had barely begun telling Rudy about the Parkers before he said he’d help. Another boy would fill in for Rudy on game nights. And a third boy was on standby in case neither of the others could make it.

When Paquette brought the boys to meet the family for the first time, the Parkers cried.

“Just to see this outpouring of people,’’ Rick Parker began, his eyes welling at the memory. “To see that these people were willing to put their hands and feet to what they believed. . .’’

It is profoundly isolating to have a child as severely disabled as Sammy. It’s hard even for well-meaning friends to understand the immense strain of his all-consuming needs. Patty and Rick — who tried for 8 years to get pregnant before Ben and Sam were born — grieve for one son’s lost potential every day, even as they struggle to give the other as normal a life as possible.

“You plan for your child’s future, but it’s hard to do that for Sam,’’ Rick said. “You have this pathway he should have taken, and the pathway he did take, and you don’t want to look at either one.’’

Some volunteer because of challenges they themselves have faced. Others look out on the world and see a need they can fill. But whether providing aid to rural villages in Guatemala or bringing a smile to a sick child close to home, these local teenagers are making a difference.

And over it all hangs the certainty that Sammy’s condition will never improve — even as he gets bigger and heavier.

Into this world of love and hurt comes Rudy. Four nights a week, he leaves his homework and makes the 10-minute drive to the Parker house. Around 8 p.m., he carries Sammy upstairs, chats a bit, hugs everybody, and heads home to finish his work. After considerable effort, the Parkers convinced Rudy to take enough money to cover gas, with a little left over.

In the few months the Parkers have known him, Rudy has become not just a help with Sammy, but a salve for their pain. He and Rick talk about football. Patty quizzes him on girls. Ben usually parks himself as close to Rudy as possible, looking up at him adoringly. And most nights, Sam will tremble with excitement as Rudy picks him up.

“It’s like family,’’ said the shy senior. It goes both ways: The Parkers were on the field with Rudy’s mother the night Malden Catholic honored its senior football players.

And so Rudy had barely knocked on the door Tuesday night before Ben was at it, jumping up and down, yelling, “Rudy is here! Rudy is here!’’

He greeted the Parkers, and went over to Sammy, gently lifting the boy’s left arm and sliding his hands under his back, the way Rudy’s father, a professional caregiver, had shown him. He lifted Sammy and held him close to his chest, and as the boy made his joyful O, Rudy carefully maneuvered him around the corners on the narrow stairway.

You couldn’t help but be struck by the painful contrast between the two boys: The robust athlete cradling the pale, helpless child; the young man preparing to go out into the world carrying someone who never will.

It’s a comparison lost on nobody, least of all Rudy himself.

“Can I ask you something?’’ he said, sitting in the Parkers’ living room after Sammy was asleep. “Is it OK if this article is more about Sam than me?’’

Why?

“He’s done more for me than I’ve done for him,’’ Rudy said. “There are times when I don’t want to go to practice, and then I look at Sam. By God’s grace, I can do what I’m doing, so I should keep it up. I’ve never been one to complain a lot, but just seeing Sam reaffirms everything, you know?’’

The Parkers won’t have Rudy for long. He’s already been accepted at four colleges, and others are courting him. Where he goes depends on financial aid and football.

The Parkers hope to be out of this cramped house and into a bigger one — with no stairs — before Rudy leaves town in search of his degree.

Until then, Rudy will bound up to the modest, pale green house on Fairmount Street. He’ll carry Sammy up to his cozy room. Then, for a little while, he’ll carry the Parkers somewhere better, too.

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers."

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

&amp;amp;amp;lt;h1&amp;amp;amp;gt;Amid the grieving, a rare act of sportsmanship&amp;amp;amp;lt;/h1&amp;amp;amp;gt;

The coach never considered any other option.

It didn't matter that his DeKalb, Ill., High School basketball team had ridden a bus two and a half hours to get to Milwaukee, then waited another hour past game time to play. Didn't matter that the game was close, or that this was a chance to beat a big city team.

Johntel Franklin scored 10 points in the game following the loss of his mother.

Something else was on Dave Rohlman's mind when he asked for a volunteer to shoot two free throws awarded his team on a technical foul in the second quarter. His senior captain raised his hand, ready to go to the line as he had many times before.

Only this time it was different.

"You realize you're going to miss them, don't you?" Rohlman said.

Darius McNeal nodded his head. He understood what had to be done.

It was a Saturday night in February, and the Barbs were playing a non-conference game on the road against Milwaukee Madison. It was the third meeting between the two schools, who were developing a friendly rivalry that spanned two states.

The teams planned to get together after the game and share some pizzas and soda. But the game itself almost never took place.

Hours earlier, the mother of Milwaukee Madison senior captain Johntel Franklin died at a local hospital. Carlitha Franklin had been in remission after a five-year fight with cervical cancer, but she began to hemorrhage that morning while Johntel was taking his college ACT exam.

Her son and several of his teammates were at the hospital late that afternoon when the decision was made to turn off the life-support system. Carlitha Franklin was just 39.

"She was young and they were real close," said Milwaukee coach Aaron Womack Jr., who was at the hospital. "He was very distraught and it happened so suddenly he didn't have time to grieve."

Womack was going to cancel the game, but Franklin told him he wanted the team to play. And play they did, even though the game started late and Milwaukee Madison dressed only eight players.

Early in the second quarter, Womack saw someone out of the corner of his eye. It was Franklin, who came there directly from the hospital to root his teammates on.

The Knights had possession, so Womack called a time out. His players went over and hugged their grieving teammate. Fans came out of the stands to do the same.

"We got back to playing the game and I asked if he wanted to come and sit on the bench," Womack said during a telephone interview.

"No," Franklin replied. "I want to play."

There was just one problem. Since Franklin wasn't on the pre-game roster, putting him in meant drawing a technical foul that would give DeKalb two free throws.

Though it was a tight game, Womack was willing to give up the two points. It was more important to help his senior guard and co-captain deal with his grief by playing.

Over on the other bench, though, Rohlman wasn't so willing to take them. He told the referees to forget the technical and just let Franklin play.

"I could hear them arguing for five to seven minutes, saying, `We're not taking it, we're not taking it," Womack said. "The refs told them, no, that's the rule. You have to take them."

That's when Rohlman asked for volunteers, and McNeal's hand went up.

He went alone to the free throw line, dribbled the ball a couple of times, and looked at the rim.

His first attempt went about two feet, bouncing a couple of times as it rolled toward the end line. The second barely left his hand.

It didn't take long for the Milwaukee players to figure out what was going on.

They stood and turned toward the DeKalb bench and started applauding the gesture of sportsmanship. Soon, so did everybody in the stands.

"I did it for the guy who lost his mom," McNeal told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. "It was the right thing to do."

They may not remember our record 20 years from now, but they'll remember what happened in that gym that night.

? Dave Rohlman, head coach of the opposing DeKalb team on what his players will take away from this experience.

Franklin would go on to score 10 points, and Milwaukee Madison broke open the game in the second half to win 62-47. Afterward, the teams went out for pizza, two players from each team sharing each pie.

Franklin stopped by briefly, thankful that his team was there for him.

"I got kind of emotional but it helped a lot just to play," he said. "I felt like I had a lot of support out there."

Carlitha Franklin's funeral was last Friday, and the school turned out for her and her son. Cheerleaders came in uniform, and everyone from the principal and teachers to Johntel's classmates were there.

"Even the cooks from school showed up," Womack said. "It lets you know what kind of kid he is."

Basketball is a second sport for the 18-year-old Franklin, who says he has had some scholarship nibbles and plans to play football in college. He just has a few games left for the Knights, who are 6-11 and got beat 71-36 Tuesday night by Milwaukee Hamilton.

It hasn't been the greatest season for the team, but they have stuck together through a lot of adversity.

"We maybe don't have the best basketball players in the world but they go to class and take care of business," Womack said. "We have a losing record but there's life lessons going on, good ones."

None so good, though, as the moment a team and a player decided there were more important things than winning and having good stats.

Yes, DeKalb would go home with a loss. But it was a trip they'll never forget.

"This is something our kids will hold for a lifetime," Rohlman said. "They may not remember our record 20 years from now, but they'll remember what happened in that gym that night."

It's a refreshing sound, both country and not, British and not, but literate and well-crafted all around. I think it's fantastic. I wanted to find out more so Kate consented to an interview via Facebook message:

Rick Saunders (RS) :: You've got a cool voice for...country music? I want to call it country but is it? Listeners can decide, but would you agree that what you do is at least a hybrid of country music? I hate to say alt-country, as that seems a dead or unnecessary sub-genre now. Your music, filtered by an english voice, makes your sound instantly familiar, a sweet nostalgic twinge and whisper of old-timey music. I don't want to suggest that you play english country or old-timey music in the strict sense, but there seems to be a strong element of that.

Kate Gerrard (KG) :: Yes definitely, I love country music, mostly 60s/70s artists like Flying Burrito Brothers, Skeeter Davis, Townes Van Zandt, CCR. I love the honesty of country music, and that songwriting as an art is at the centre of it. That's how I write songs. Country's such a wide genre that one person's country might be very different from another's. When I talk about country, I mean those great songwriters who were singing and playing from the heart.

(RS) Agreed. There's a level of poetry in so much of the older stuff, and that's hard to come by these days. So much of country music, the horror that is pop-country, is that it's a bumpersticker slogan for a corporate beer commercial faux party. On the other hand, one of the things I like about your work is the thoughtfulness of the lyrics and the music. How long have you been playing, and have you been in other bands?

(KG) Thanks. I take a lot of care with all the aspects of my music – arrangements, lyrics, through to photos and artwork. To me, it’s all art and deserves time and thought and consideration. I’ve been playing music since I was a kid, and I started on the guitar when I was about 13, so I’ve been playing for nearly 20 years. I started writing songs about then too. I’ve been in various bands over the last ten years or so, tried to get various things started. But I got to the point a couple of years ago when that got a bit frustrating, so I decided just to record my songs, and I got people to come and play on them – drums, pedal steel, strings, backing vocals, flugelhorn. I’m lucky to be in Brighton where there are a lot of great musicians around. I like the freedom of doing it like that, you don’t feel compelled to include an instrument just because you’ve got someone in your band who plays it. That being said, since recording the album I now have a five piece band – including Andrew Blake, who played the pedal steel on Wasted - and they're all great musicians, so I’m looking forward to bringing the songs to life, and I think future recordings will have more of a band feel.

(RS) The care you've taken in your presentation via the videos and graphics for the single, the overall sound of the production, plus the fact that you didn't just dump an album on the world all at once...it shows care, and thoughtfulness...and style.

I'm delighted to hear you say that you look at all of it as art. I have the same view. In this day and age you either craft it carefully or get ignored. Of course you can still be well-crafted and get ignored but...

I want to ask you about the album Bow Out Of The Fading Light but first I want to ask you about the single you did for the wonderful Random Acts Of Vinyl label. I've loved all the stuff I've heard from that label, particularly the single by your friends Paul Pascoe of Mudlow and his friend the great Sally Megee, And of course the Mudlow single. How'd that come about?

(KG) Yeah and I really enjoy crafting it, and thinking it through. And there’s no imperative to do things quickly, I’d rather let something come to fruition when it’s ready. Although that’s not to say it doesn't get frustrating now and again! Ah the wonderful Random Acts Of Vinyl! They’ve got/are some great bands – Palm Springs, Fire Eyes, Beat Hotel. I think the upcoming Fire Eyes single will be their 15th release, so they’ve got a good back catalogue too. My involvement came about because Davey (Pinnington, who runs the label with Jon Russo) saw my previous band at a night he was co-running at the time. He liked it and wanted to do a release. That was about two years ago, just when I’d started this set of recordings, and the band I was in was coming to an end, so it ended up being what became The Delta Bell. Davey and Jon have both been really supportive and encouraging. It was Davey who suggested doing the mixing and mastering with Paul Pascoe, which I’m so glad I did – he just got what I was doing, and took the extra time to master the songs onto tape which just gave it that extra warmth and magic. It feels very communal, and we’re all involved in each other’s music somehow – the great Sally Megee sang on one of my songs, I ended up playing piano for Palm Springs and doing some background vocals, that kind of thing. It shouldn’t be underestimated how fun it is doing it that way, there are a lot of good times in the RAOV world!

(RS) Paul has some great ears and taste to match, doesn't he? If I could afford to record my band by anyone he'd top my list.
Tell me about the name, The Delta Bell.

(KG) I was at a photography exhibition in London, and there were some photographs by William Eggleston. I love his work, it totally draws me in. There were a couple of photos next to each other, one was of a car in front of a food stall, and the sign said Delta Kreme. I liked the sound of Delta Kreme, but not wanting to sound like a donut vendor, I wrote some other words down. The next photo along had the ‘something bell’ on it - I can’t remember what exactly – so one of the ones I wrote was The Delta Bell. I still liked it a few weeks later so I kept it.

(RS) Do you have a release date for the album, Bow Out Of The Fading Light? How are you going about putting it out? Do you have a label or are you going DIY with it? I love the title. Whats the source of it?

(KG) I don’t have a release date yet, but I think it will be early next year, and there might be another single before then on RAOV. I’ve only released one single so I’m at the very early stages of getting stuff out there so I’ll see how it goes. RAOV are keen to put the album out but as always it depends on finances, and they're supportive of me seeing if there are any other interested labels so we'll see how it goes. It will be out somehow early next year, mainly so I can get on with the next one!

I’m not really sure where the album title came from, it’s just one of those phrases that I had knocking about in a notebook and it seemed to fit that collection of songs. I guess when I thought of it, it was at a time when there were a lot of changes in my life, so to me it’s kind of like closing the door on the past, not in a traumatic way, but just stepping aside from it all and starting anew. Kind of laying ghosts to rest, and moving on.

(RS):: Ok, last question: How fun was writing Wasted? The lines throughout are so good and quietly cutting, I love "wasted on heartache and tears." Anything else the world should know about The Delta Bell? Favourite writer? Favourite books, Color? (KG): Ha, yes it was fun. I love playing it. I had part of the chorus knocking about for a while, and then the rest of it kind of tumbled out one evening. I think there’s that point when you’ve broken up with someone and you’ve done all the crying and drinking, and then you’re kind of left with this empty cynicism and just not wanting to have to bother thinking about it anymore. It was fun writing a song that was intended to be delivered so drily, and I always wanted to play it as if I couldn’t be bothered. That’s quite hard to do as it turns out, so it bounces a bit more than it did in my head! Favourite writers change a bit, but I always love Christopher Isherwood. He's a neutral observer, and I love that he lets you come to your own conclusions about characters. I also like it because I'm a bit of a history nerd, so I especially love the Berlin novels. My other 'release' this year is a chapter I've written on East German punk for a book on alternative music behind the Iron Curtain. So yeah, that's something you didn't know about The Delta Bell!

(RS) Thank You, Kate! I appreciate you taking the time to chat. I can't wait to hear more.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Monday, June 2, 2014

Maybe you know her name, or maybe you are into movies or old Hollywood and you'd heard her name and some salacious gossip...even today 45 years after her death.I first became intrigued with MissBankhead while reading Milking The Moon, a bio of Eugene Walter. Here's the story of their first meeting recounted by Paste Magazine writer Charles McNair:"He claimed as a friend Tallulah Bankhead. Ms. Bankhead bestowed her friendship on Eugene after he suggested a stage prop in one of her shows be given to “the state of Alabama because we ought to make a shrine over that like they made over Buddha’s tooth in Ceylon.” According to Eugene, Ms. Bankhead rewarded him with three of her pubic hairs for his suggestion … two of which he swapped for books or other treasures, and one of which he kept in a Chinese porcelain box until the day he died."When I read a book I use a 4x11" folded piece of paper as a bookmark. I use that to make note of things I know nothing about, and things I want to know more about.

RiCK SAUNDERS WORLD

TWiT!

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disclaimer

These posts are made in order to help promote artists that I love and believe in and to hopefully twist yr spindly little bird arm into buying their stuff. Generally speaking the artists that I tend to like are not wealthy and do not usually refer to their home (or tour van as the case may be) as a "crib". So with this in mind please give them your hard earned money. They deserve it or I would not bother letting you know about them. Songs are up for a limited time and once gone they are gone. Got the rights to a file and want it removed?Give me a holler.